


Zero Distance

by Skylark



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Hair, Canon Dialogue, Consent Issues, Crying During Sex, Emotional self-harm, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, First Time, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Misogyny, Missing Scene, Overhearing Sex, Pain Kink, Praise Kink, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Semi-Public Sex, Trans Female Sylvain Jose Gautier, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: The immediate problem is that Dimitri's admirer is outside the door, trapping both of them in here. Does Dimitri know how he's planning to solve that?The girl knocks on the door, and Dimitri stifles a jump. There's a look in his eyes, some naive fretfulness. Sylvain realizes that Dimitri has no idea what his plan is and is trusting him anyway. It's that, more than anything, that firms his resolve.Takes place immediately after Sylvain and Dimitri's B support.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 95





	Zero Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Am I the only one who saw Dimitri and Sylvain's B support and assumed that after the fade to black, Sylvain kissed Dimitri senseless against the door to scare the girl away? Anyway here's a fic about it.
> 
> Sylvain in this piece is transfem but still grappling with the concept of being trans. As a result, Sylvain uses male pronouns and terms when referring to themselves. 
> 
> This fic is about exploring gender through sex. In addition to the tags above, this fic includes objectification of a cis partner, general consent issues including pushing on someone's boundaries after receiving an explicit no, kink negotiation, and a brief reference to past dubcon sexual encounters with NPCs.

It's 4:52 in the afternoon and Sylvain has just promised to help Dimitri, no matter what.

"A knight of Faerghus never goes back on his word... Isn't that right?"

The language is ambiguous: challenging, or reassuring. It's only Dimitri's tone that turns it towards the latter. Their eyes meet, and Sylvain feels a familiar swoop of nerves. Perhaps to anyone else it would have been a warning, but to Sylvain, years of ignoring such cues has only turned it into a goad.

The immediate problem is that Dimitri's admirer is outside the door, trapping both of them in here. Does Dimitri know how he's planning to solve that?

The girl knocks on the door, and Dimitri stifles a jump. There's a look in his eyes, some naive fretfulness. Sylvain realizes that Dimitri has no idea what his plan is and is trusting him anyway. It's that, more than anything, that firms his resolve.

Sylvain walks towards Dimitri, who's standing between Sylvain and the door. Dimitri steps back, obliging. Whatever he sees in Sylvain's face makes his lips turn up in a nervous smile. "You're a good man, Sylvain. I'm sorry to do this to you. Best of luck!"

Sylvain smothers a laugh, but he can't stop his smile from widening. "Please, Your Highness. I've spent years honing my skills for _just_ this situation."

He keeps moving forward. Dimitri tries to step out of the way and Sylvain sidesteps with him, not stopping until Dimitri's stumbling back toward the door, ill-footed. Sylvain seizes Dimitri's elbows to keep him balanced, but he doesn't stop. There's another knock on the door a second before Dimitri collides with it, a scattered collection of thuds—elbows, thighs, shoulder blades—that almost hide the girl's shocked gasp. Almost. Dimitri doesn't seem to have heard it, but Sylvain certainly did. _See?_ he thinks. _The plan's already working like a charm. She'll be running away mortified soon enough._

Dimitri's looking at him with wide, confused eyes. His elbows are pinned against the door by Sylvain's firm hands and his forearms have lifted to hang in the air, his fingers twitching. Sylvain's smile widens, and he leans in to whisper in Dimitri's ear. "Watch and learn."

When he captures Dimitri's mouth with his own, his brain tries to make some kind of checkmate joke. _Shut up,_ he tells it. _Focus, Sylvain. You only get one shot at this._

Dimitri makes a startled noise and his body stiffens against the door, the pommel of his sword rattling against the wood. Sylvain's hands slide down his forearms, catching and smoothing the cloth. As he pushes Dimitri's hands back towards the door, away from his body, Dimitri seems to relax a little. Sylvain kisses him again, softer, lingering over the final thread of contact between their lips before they break apart. 

Dimitri's eyes are open, nearly crossed with the struggle of watching him up close. Sylvain huffs an amused breath against his mouth before he closes his own eyes, hoping Dimitri will catch on and follow suit.

Sylvain's nervous. _Of course you're nervous. Don't think about it,_ he hisses at himself. _Just stick to what you're good at, Sylvain._

And kissing is something he's _very_ good at. Sylvain can feel the moment Dimitri gets swept up in it: his body's tension ratchets up infinitesimally higher and then loosens all at once, his breath washing over Sylvain's lips when he lets them break apart.

"Are you sure?" Dimitri gasps out. "Sylvain, are you—is this what you want?"

Sylvain smiles, "I told you, I'm a master at this kind of stuff. She'll be leaving any minute now."

The reminder of their audience makes Dimitri's head jerk towards the door and the pocket of listening silence on the other side of it. Sylvain catches Dimitri's chin in one hand and turns his attention back. He licks his lips, grin widening when he sees how Dimitri's eyes flick down to follow the movement. _See?_ he tells himself. _This isn't a lost cause after all. Just have to warm him up some._

"Don't worry about her," Sylvain murmurs with a lazy smile, raising his voice for the girl's benefit. Did she see Dimitri come in here? He'd better try to throw her off the scent, just in case. "Not after you came all this way. Here, sweetheart, I'll give you something else to focus on."

"Sweet—" Dimitri starts to reply with indignation, but the way the word cuts in half when Sylvain kisses him is satisfying. Dimitri stiffens again, but this time it's a listening, anticipatory kind of tension. Sylvain's lips rub against his, slow, and he can tell the exact moment Dimitri forgets about breathing.

After a few more kisses Dimitri tentatively puckers his lips, trying to kiss back. A sense of low alarm floods Sylvain's stomach, which is what triumph always feels like to him, so he keeps going. Sylvain's well used to teaching shy girls how to kiss through example, and Dimitri is a satisfyingly quick study. The kisses slow and become luxurious, setting Sylvain's lips to tingling. A gentle nip to Dimitri's bottom lip startles a noise out of him, a low moan far too deep to be anything but masculine, and Sylvain feels that spike of alarm again. Is the girl still there?

Somewhere in his head, Sylvain laughs. A moan or two won't give Dimitri's identity away, he thinks, and his own reputation is already in tatters. What's the harm if he adds some rumors that he doesn't limit himself to women, too? Some ladies are even into that. It's a benefit, really.

Meanwhile the kisses are turning filthy, Sylvain licking slow and hot into Dimitri's mouth and sucking on his tongue. Dimitri rips his mouth away to gasp air into his lungs but before Sylvain can change tactics he lunges back in again. His hands push through Sylvain's hair and twist tight, making Sylvain grunt. In response Dimitri _growls,_ somewhere from the back of his throat, and the sound goes straight to Sylvain's belly before dropping lower, like a stone.

Then Dimitri's eyes fly open and he rears back, his fists loosening. "Sylvain, are you—are you okay? I didn't mean to—"

"Do it again," Sylvain says, suddenly punch-drunk with want. He scrabbles for Dimitri's hands, his scalp still tingling. "I will do literally anything you want if you just keep doing that—"

But Dimitri pushes his hands away and says, _"Sylvain,"_ fierce and urgent, and Sylvain comes back to himself.

"Don't worry about me," he says. "I'm right where I want to be. Just relax."

Dimitri's eyes are bright, and his lips are swollen and pink. Sylvain wants to lean in and bite at them, but Dimitri has pressed one hand against Sylvain's chest as if he's already read his mind.

Dimitri wants to _talk._ Ugh. Sylvain hates when this happens.

"So then—" Dimitri begins with a stammer, "before, with m-men, you've—"

"Mmm." Sylvain can't resist tugging Dimitri's free hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to it, his lips a whispering brush over one fingertip. A fine tremor passes through Dimitri in response, all the way to the fingers of his other hand. "No, not with men, though I must say the principles so far are the same."

Dimitri's eyes widen with alarm. "So that means—I'm your first—"

 _Yes,_ Sylvain thinks, the thought burning like a coal in his chest, _yes,_ and he laughs. "Trust you to get all tangled up with thoughts like that. It doesn't matter, Dimitri," he says, leaning his whole weight against Dimitri's hand. Dimitri holds him up effortlessly, and Sylvain resists the urge to go boneless, to let Dimitri carry him like he weighs nothing, some small thing in need of tending. "I'm just a friend, doing you a favor."

Dimitri's brow creases. "Some—ah!—" Sylvain has sucked one of Dimitri's fingers into his mouth—"some favor."

Sylvain swirls his tongue against the subtle texture of Dimitri's fingerprint before he lifts his head. "Anything for you," Sylvain says. The twinkle in his eye can't leach the truth from it. 

Dimitri's breath catches. Sylvain can feel the misstep like he's standing on a cliff's edge, so he drops Dimitri's wrist and reaches for the hem of his tunic instead. Dimitri stares in confusion for a moment but once Sylvain yanks it up, rucking his tunic around his hips and revealing the tented cloth of his breeches, Dimitri gasps with shock. _"Sylvain!"_ he cries, trying to slap his hands away, but Sylvain dodges him with ease and tugs up the softer undershirt beneath, too, until his hands are pressed flat against the golden hair on his stomach. He draws his fingertips against the sensitive skin there and feels his muscles tremble on a moan.

He knows how to get into girls' uniforms well enough, but the boys' uniform is a bit more mysterious; he's only familiar with it mirrored, as on his own body. He can't be bothered with all the buttons and hidden snaps so he just tugs it up, up, until both his hands are splayed against the narrow width of Dimitri's waist.

Dimitri doesn't feel like anyone else he's ever slept with. There are no generous curves here and there's no tempting softness. Dimitri's strength is written in his prominent muscles, standing out in sharp relief against Sylvain's hand.

Sylvain's heart feels unencumbered. Light.

He's lost count of how many women he's slept with by now. And when he's with them, when he touches them, there's a hungry want in his stomach, an ugly roiling feeling as he clutches at them and hears their high, pretty gasps. He wants their eyes fixed on him, he wants to feel their slim arms and slight frames, he _wants._ It's lust, right? That has to be what it is. 

One time he told a girl that he wished he could curl up inside her chest and stay there, next to her heart. The laugh she gave him was a little creeped out. "Too much?" he said. "Sorry, I was trying to be romantic." She cupped his chin in her hand, her neat and polished nails tapping against his skin, and gave him a thin-lipped smile. She broke up with him a week later, and he couldn't say he was surprised.

He doesn't know how to touch a body like Dimitri's, broad and strong. All he's familiar with is a jealousy so intense that it borders on reverence, his large hands splaying over breasts and hips as if he can claim them for himself. Svelte thighs tucked around his body, the plush way that soft, girlish skin gives beneath his mouth; Dimitri's body is nothing like that. Dimitri's body is like his.

He expects to hate it.

He doesn't.

He thought he'd get bored once they got this far, and found that beneath the spell cast by Dimitri's blue eyes and warm, reassuring voice there was only a body that mirrored his own. But Dimitri's body is only like his in general concept. Sylvain is mesmerized by the details, by the golden dusting of hair that covers his abs, darkening as it approaches his belt. The small bump of his xiphoid process is tangible beneath the skin when Sylvain runs his fingers over it, a vulnerable and potentially deadly spot in the center of his chest where certainly no one has ever touched him before. His waist is narrower than Sylvain's own but his hips are narrow, too. 

Dimitri's skin isn't soft. Instead it feels thin beneath his fingers, with a rougher, intriguing texture. Has Sylvain's own body ever been so intriguing? He can't remember what his own skin feels like, if it feels the same as this, and he doesn't want to.

Dimitri's body feels like the first time he saw Fhirdiad, galloping over the crest of a hill after weeks of endless riding and seeing the burst of white spires vivid against the sky. He'd only seen the city before then in illustrations, and it couldn't prepare him for the reality of it. It was familiar, but still brilliant and new once experienced first-hand. Dimitri's body feels like that.

Sylvain expected to hate it—a man's body, Dimitri's body—but the muscles beneath his searching fingers ripple in a way that he can't look away from, and when he licks his lips it's with a different kind of hunger. 

"Sylvain," Dimitri is whimpering, his hands covering his face. "Sylvain, it—it tickles! Please stop."

"Don't wanna," Sylvain purrs, nuzzling his face against the soft hair of his chest. Dimitri looks a bit ridiculous now, his undershirt and tunic bunched beneath his armpits and impairing his line of sight downward. His nipples are a pale pink and peaked in the cool air, but Sylvain knows from personal experience that it doesn't feel that great when they're played with, so he leaves them alone. Sylvain presses a kiss to his clavicles, above the soft swell of his pectorals, and Dimitri makes a small distressed noise. Sylvain can feel Dimitri's erection pressing against his own thigh, and the blunt insistence of it makes his breath speed up.

"This isn't fair," Dimitri complains as Sylvain undoes the clasps of his tunic collar and slips the whole uniform over his head, sword belt and all. Sylvain drops it aside, and the knowledge that it's crumpled on the ground somewhere by their feet bothers him, niggling; he ignores it. "This is hardly equitable, Sylvain, you're doing all this and I've only, I mean—I don't want to do too much, but I haven't...well, at all, and perhaps if you provided me with some guidance—"

A flare of panic spikes in Sylvain's guts and his eyelids droop to mask it. "I like making _you_ feel good," he says in a honeyed tone. "I like it just like this, you're—" _beautiful,_ he's about to say, but Dimitri is shaking his head, not listening, and Sylvain stops himself just in time. 

"At least let me even the scales," Dimitri insists, "I feel uneasy if there are debts left untended." Before Sylvain can work out what he means by it, Dimitri is dropping to his knees and reaching for Sylvain's belt.

The panic this time is nearly blinding.

Sylvain steps back faster than he can think, leaving Dimitri on his knees with his hands hanging in the air like he's in the middle of some misshapen prayer. A hurt look crosses his face. Sylvain realizes his mistake and rushes back to crowd against Dimitri, kneeling in front of him too before pushing him back to sprawl against the door. Dimitri's got one leg drawn up, the jut of his erection plain against the fine cloth, and his eyes are uncertain.

"You don't want me to reciprocate, Sylvain?" Dimitri murmurs, his hands falling to his sides. "I know I have a reputation for force and the idea of my touch must be frightening, perhaps even repugnant, but…"

"Stop right there," Sylvain says, lifting his hands and shaking his head. "It's definitely not that, so don't get ahead of yourself, Your Highness." His lips curve in a teasing smile. "I'm just feeling bossy today. I'm having fun right now, I promise."

"Truly—are you?" Dimitri says, searching his face. "That look on your face was—"

Sylvain lunges for his belt, flips it open in the span of half a breath, and shoves his hand down Dimitri's pants. Dimitri's answering yelp is shocked, turning into a groan as Sylvain smoothes his hand down the shaft.

"Sylvain, I—will you _listen_ to me—I don't want to _hurt_ you!" he cries, the words ripped out of him as his head falls back. Sylvain refuses to stop, his grip soft and loose around his foreskin. He leans forward to nuzzle against Dimitri's neck, nipping just beneath his jaw and pressing their bodies together. Sylvain can feel Dimitri's chest heaving for air, feel the hard tremble that runs through his body when Sylvain swipes his thumb over the head.

"Damnit, Sylvain, it's so hard to talk to you when you're— _ah!_ —doing that!"

Sylvain chuckles, but he can tell when a smile doesn't reach his eyes and he knows that's happening now. He presses his face against Dimitri's neck to hide it. His skin is warm, nearly burning, and Sylvain wants to tuck himself in against it like a cat near a hearth fire.

"So then stop trying to talk," Sylvain says. "Stop thinking. Just feel. It's okay, I got you."

"That's not wise for me to do," Dimitri confesses in a small voice.

Sylvain blinks. Then he pulls his head back and smiles. "It's fine. I'll help, just let me take care of it."

Sylvain has never done this before, obviously, but he keeps his smile in place as he sinks to his elbows. Sylvain tugs at his pants until Dimitri lifts his hips to help, and soon they're puddled around his ankles. Dimitri is, for all intents and purposes, naked in his bedroom, his expression trepidatious, his eyes intense and focused only on Sylvain. 

_You're about to give head to the future ruler of Faerghus and one of your closest friends,_ a voice in his head reminds him.

Mentally, he shrugs. _I've made worse decisions._

Dimitri's scent—soap and a hint of sweat—has been a lingering constant the whole time Sylvain has been winding him up, but it's strongest here at the junction of his thighs, a rich musk that makes his next inhale shaky. Sylvain licks his lips and dares a glance upward, finding that Dimtiri's hands are fisted at his sides.

Sylvain's been on the receiving end a few times, from women who were especially proud of their skills and demanded a chance to show them off, or when he'd drunk enough so that he no longer felt certain of his body's edges and didn't care what people did to him. He tries to remember what he can, but the size of it is kind of intimidating. He starts by getting a firm grip on the base and suckling at the head, using his hands to run over the length of it. Dimitri's breathing grows ragged, and his fingers twitch. Sylvain becomes determined in that moment to make Dimitri pull his hair until he tears up. It shouldn't be _that_ hard, as long as he can get Dimitri on the same page.

"I want to ask you for a favor," he says, biting his lip. "I know you said no already but...can you pull my hair again?"

His hand keeps working on Dimitri, a slow and steady buzz of distraction. Even so, Dimitri's reply is instant. "No, Sylvain, I _told_ you—"

"No, _listen_ , you said you wanted to reciprocate if I could give you some guidance. I can do that. It's a win-win situation here. I..." Sylvain lowers his voice, husky and shy as he looks up at Dimitri. "I _really_ like it when people get rough with me."

"You _like—_ " Dimitri splutters, but when Sylvain reaches for Dimitri's hand he doesn't pull away. 

Dimitri lets Sylvain ease his fingers from their white-knuckled clenching and pull them straight. "Keep your hand like that for me," he says, and pushes Dimitri's fingers through his own hair like a makeshift comb. Then he runs his hand over the fingers to curl them against the back of his head.

"How's that?" he asks. Dimitri is watching his face closely, so Sylvain leans against his hand, looking up at him through his eyelashes with a little smile. Dimitri blinks and lets out a slow breath.

"This is...acceptable."

"Great, other side then." Once both of Dimitri's hands are in place, Sylvain says, "I want you to fist your hands in my hair— _wait,_ let me finish," he says, lifting a finger to stem Dimitri's protest. "You know how to grab a sword hilt, right? Like a bird—tight enough so that it doesn't fly away, light enough so it can breathe. You can do that without snapping it, right? If you concentrate."

"I fight with a lance," Dimitri mumbles, but it's a token protest; they were trained by most of the same weapons instructors. "Does this really mean so much to you?"

" _So much,_ " Sylvain breathes. Dimitri gasps as he feels the air from Sylvain's response wash over him. "I'll tell you the second it gets to be too much, I promise. You won't hurt me."

Dimitri doesn't seem convinced of that, but he breathes a fretful sigh. "All right, then." Sylvain rewards him by licking at the tip, a tease more than anything, and Dimitri chokes on a slight inhale. "Don't distract me," he admonishes.

Sylvain raises his eyebrows. "Apologies, Your Highness. Go ahead."

The sensation of Dimitri's hands in hair goes from pleasant to aching to the sharp prickling bite that Sylvain is aiming for, and his lips part with bliss. "There, there, right there," Sylvain gasps, and Dimitri's hands freeze in place.

"This tight?" Dimitri answers, brow furrowing.

It hurts. It's making his breath come in ragged pants. Sylvain can barely think around it enough to say, " _Yes,_ just like that."

He eases forward and Dimitri follows the motion, his elbows bending and his grip relentless. Sylvain takes his time, rewarding Dimitri for indulging him. His hand works the base, growing wetter the longer Sylvain uses his mouth. He works his way up to taking as much in as he can, careful not to get too greedy and trip his gag reflex. It would only make Dimitri panic, and he doesn't want to ruin what he's got going right now: Dimitri flushed and babbling, his thick thighs bracketing Sylvain's hollowing cheeks. 

Sylvain tries to focus on the physical responses, rather than the nonsense spilling out of Dimitri's mouth. He's not saying anything Sylvain hasn't heard before, anyway.

"I had no idea it was possible to feel this good," Dimitri is panting. "Sylvain, you look amazing, I can't even articulate how beautiful you are right now, your hair's like silk in my hands, your mouth, your _mouth_ it's so gorgeous, so—pretty—"

Sylvain stiffens like he's been shot. A low groan spills from his throat and the vibrations make Dimitri moan too. He's hoping that the sensation was enough of a distraction that he can go back to what he was doing without Dimitri trying to stop him or something, maybe he'll throw in a few more moans for good measure since Dimitri obviously liked it, when—

Dimitri's voice softens, caressing past his ears with a tenderness that, Sylvain thinks, is misplaced. "You're pretty, Sylvain," he says.

Sylvain can't help the sharp gasp that he takes through his nose. He blinks rapidly, his rhythm faltering. He glances up at Dimitri, his mouth still stuffed full of him, and sees an assessing look on his face.

"Pretty," he whispers, and Sylvain pulls off, frantic.

"Don't," he says, his voice a hoarse rasp, "I—" 

But Dimitri doesn't move with him this time. The pain as Sylvain pulls his head against Dimitri's hands ricochets down Sylvain's spine, making his toes curl in his shoes. The rest of his protest dies in his throat.

"The prettiest knight in my service," Dimitri says, shifting forward and easing the pressure. His hands' grip on Sylvain's hair is fierce but unchanging. Sylvain tries to remember what he was doing, the rhythm of his hand, tries to duck forward to take Dimitri into his mouth again, but Dimitri refuses to move again and the sharp pull on his hair stops him.

Sylvain shakes his head, once and deliberately, savoring the way the pain sharpens and shifts with his movement. There's a strange lurching feeling in his chest, a bubbling thrill of adrenaline. There's a lump in his throat. 

"Pretty, pretty Sylvain," Dimitri murmurs, and tears arc down his cheeks.

Dimitri lets go then, rushing to offer apologies, but Sylvain abandons caring. He lunges for Dimitri and stuffs his mouth full of him like he's desperate for the taste, refusing to be waylaid until Dimitri gives a low wail and Sylvain tastes the first burst of bitterness on his tongue. He flinches but holds Dimitri in his mouth, running his tongue along the underside as he spills and spills, Sylvain's name dripping from his lips.

Sylvain pulls back. He takes a moment to steel himself, and then swallows it down with a shudder. After that, he turns away to wipe at the half-dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

Sylvain gets up and retrieves Dimitri's clothes from where he dropped them. Dimitri pulls his breeches back on while Sylvain untangles the shirt and tunic from each other, trying to smooth out the wrinkles with his hands. He offers them to Dimitri one layer at a time and watches as he buttons and tucks himself back away, until he once again looks like the companion Sylvain's so familiar with.

"I hurt you," Dimitri says. It sounds like he's pushing the words past his teeth.

Sylvain shrugs. "I asked you to. I wanted it. You didn't do anything wrong. You did great, actually."

Dimitri doesn't seem convinced, but he doesn't press the point. There's a moment of silence before he asks, "Do you want…" He gestures at Sylvain's hips.

"No," he says. He smiles to soften his tone. "I'm good. Thanks for asking, though. This was fun."

"It was...remarkable," Dimitri says. Sylvain hands him his sword and Dimitri loops it over his head, settling it into place. "I will never forget this."

Sylvain bites back a mental wince. "This was just to make her leave you alone for now," Sylvain reminds him, his tone light. "We'll have to work on a longer-term strategy later to make her give up on you for good. Hopefully something less strenuous," he says with a laugh. "But for tonight, at least, you should have some peace."

There's a quiet look in Dimitri's eyes, something intense and piercing, more than the simple satiation he was hoping to see. Sylvain's not sure what to make of it. For a moment he tenses, but: "Yes," is all he says in reply. "Thank you, Sylvain. For...helping me."

"Of course," Sylvain says, swinging his door open.

"Can I expect to see you at dinner later?" Dimitri says, hesitating in the doorway.

Sylvain closes the door a little and leans against the door jamb, giving him a lazy smile. It's nice to not be the one doing the walk of shame, for once. "You know it," he says.

When the door shuts behind Dimitri, it only takes a second before Sylvain has dropped to his knees and is fumbling to pull himself free of his slacks. He's gritting his teeth, so hard he's aching. His mind is full of the intensity of Dimitri's gaze, Dimitri's voice, the pain and tenderness intertwined.

Of course Sylvain had to take Dimitri by the hand and lead him _now_ —he's never done this before, after all. He remembers Dimitri's breath coming quickly, ragged, his eyes wide with something too well-mannered to be called anxiety, and even now feels certain of his initial assessment, that there was no way he could have asked Dimitri to take control. But later, if they do this again—there's promise. The thought of Dimitri moving over him, slow and sure; tugging him, arranging Sylvain this way and that, taking what he liked with the same steady surety he showed whenever placed in a position of leadership.

Maybe then, Sylvain thinks, he could convince Dimitri to sink inside of him and let him experience for himself what those girls he slept with felt—what made them throw their heads back and gasp, the rapture writ on their faces in a wide, expressive hand. Maybe then he would, he could know what it was, to _feel,_ to know what it was like, to be—

He thinks of Dimitri above him, thinks of him pounding into him and filling him, and spills into his hand with a guttural, choked cry.

For a moment the room is filled with the sound of his harsh panting. Then, a laugh.

 _Who am I kidding?_ Sylvain thinks, looking down at the mess he's made. _As if this will ever happen again._

**Author's Note:**

> ([retweet link](https://twitter.com/petrarights/status/1294615771805515777?s=20))
> 
> Title is from ["Chiruchiru" by REOL](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVaNq9uSJgY), whose lyrics are also fairly applicable to this fic. Thank you to Chromyrose, Wizard, and Icie for their invaluable beta reading.
> 
> Follow me @petrarights on twitter if you want to see me screaming about FE3H in real time


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